


Hold Him Tight (and Never let go)

by CheckersPalace



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Play, Angst to the max, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, No Sex, Non-Sexual Age Play, Uncle Nick Fury, Whump, but also fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-07 02:37:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11614173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheckersPalace/pseuds/CheckersPalace
Summary: Phil and Clint have been age playing for awhile now. They're quite comfortable in their relationship and don't need any more complications as they begin planning their wedding. Of course, the universe has different plans when Clint's appendix decides to stop functioning.





	1. age play?

**Author's Note:**

> I meant this to be just a two chaptered hurt!Clint fic but it turned into this monstrosity
> 
> Annyyywayyy
> 
> I hope you enjoy this whump. I certainly did

The first time Clint brought up ageplaying to his partner, Phil, he was shaking like a leaf in the wind. All he could think was  _ god, he’s going to dump me. Leave. Just like everybody else. Fuck- I shouldn’t have opened my da- _

 

“Sure, we could give it a try.”

 

Clint stared open mouthed at Phil. What.

 

“Clint?” Phil looked worried now. Fuck. “Was that… was that not what you wanted to hear? Clint? Baby, talk to me.”

 

But Clint couldn’t speak. What the fuck. Phil…

 

Even though the deaf archer had  _ hoped _ his longtime boyfriend would accept this part of him, he hadn’t  _ actually _ expected Phil to say  _ yes, let’s try it. _ He must’ve done something real good in his life for someone like  _ Phil Coulson _ . And oh- goddammit. Clint could feel his eyes stinging. Shit.

Not only would Phil think he was a wimpy ass-

 

“Clint, baby, you’re worrying me.” Like a goddamn saint, Phil hopped off the couch and knelt down in front of Clint. “Please tell me what’s wrong, Clint.”

 

Clint chewed his lip anxiously. Why was he overreacting like this? It wasn’t like Phil had slapped him upside the face like...like so many people before him. Why was he this fucked up?

 

Distantly, he heard Phil talking again but his aides must’ve stopped working because he couldn’t hear him and wouldn’t that be the fucking tip of the huge ass iceberg?

 

“Breathe, honey, breathe.” Clint sucked in a breath and realized his lungs were absolutely  _ aching _ for air. “That’s right, sunshine. In… and out. Good boy.”

 

Despite himself, Clint could feel his chest lightening at the sound of that.  _ Good boy _ .

 

A hand settled on the curve of his jaw. “Clint, can you be a big boy and tell me what’s wrong? I promise I won’t be upset.”

 

“Yes,” he whispered, staring into Phil’s perfect blue eyes. (They weren’t like his-gray and dull-but like the sky on a clear day. Pretty like the sea.)

 

“Okay then. Take your time.” The hand on his jaw dropped and settled on his knee, stroking soothingly.

 

Clint glanced away and did as he was told and took his time. Phil appeared to have accepted the ageplaying idea and probably had already ran away with it. When the senior agent took something into heart, he took it in like a seal did to water. Or like… a duck to water? Fish?

 

However the expression went, it was safe to say that Phil would keep his promise and not be upset at what Clint had to say next. Phil Coulson  _ always _ kept his promise and when he couldn’t, he’d do whatever it took to make up for it.

 

“I-I was scared you were gonna be mad at me for being such a baby,” Clint muttered, his cheeks heating. “It’s, it’s wrong to want this kinda thing. When you’re already a grown-up.”

 

Clint was still looking away so he didn’t see when Phil’s eyes went from the clear sea blue to stormy currents blue.  _ How fucking dare  _ anyone  _ hurt  _ his  _ Clint like this? _ When Phil saw his darling boy start to breathe a little more quickly, he toned down the angry red, red, red fire that lit inside of himself.

 

“Clint… darling, I’m not angry ok?” Phil continued brushing his hand across his lover’s knee. “I promised I wouldn’t, didn’t I?” When Clint still refused to look up, Phil sighed inwardly. Fuck the assholes who ever even so slightly raised their voices or lay a hand on Clint. Fuck them and send them to the deepest depths of hell. Fuck.

 

“Baby, you’re okay. You’re just fine and I’m not going to leave you. You’re okay and I still love you,” Phil dropped his voice, hoping Clint would hear the truth in his words.

 

Immediately Clint looked up to meet Phil’s eyes. Did Phil just say-

 

“You love me?”

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

…

 

“I love you too.”

 

“I know.”


	2. wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have internet in the house I'm watching so I'm using that as an excuse for posting 2 days in a row
> 
> also people were ultra-nice:)

_ Present day _

 

As Phil settles the com unit inside his ear, he thinks of the progress he and his boyfriend (now  _ fiance _ ) have made over the last three years.They have made leaps and bounds in developing a much healthier relationship since Clint ‘came out’ to him, wanting to try ageplaying. 

 

It’s legit been the best three years of Phil’s life and he expects an even more amazing thirty or so years ahead of them. Before Clint, life kind of just dragged on- even working for a super secret, high tech agency like SHIELD, it just wasn’t  _ exciting _ enough for him. Nineteen year old Phil would’ve laughed in the face of anyone who told him that all the excitement he needed in his life was  _ settling down _ .

 

However, even if he  _ had _ ‘settled down’ with anyone besides Clint Barton, Phil would bet his vintage Captain America cards that he’d still crave the excitement that the resident archer gave him. Because  _ holy shit _ that man was a handful (not even inside little-space).

 

Phil couldn’t help the way his lips hitched up ever so slightly at the thought of his fiance. Fuck, he missed Clint so much. (sometimes even the exciting life of super-agent had his downsides- aka not seeing significant others for long lengths of time)

 

Due to the secrecy of the mission, Phil could only keep minimal contact with Clint. They mostly texted when Phil could and spoke quick “I love you’s” before hanging up again. So, it really came as a surprise when his phone went off, because his phone has been on ‘do-not-disturb’ for ages and the only one not on that setting was Clint.

 

And Clint had  _ clear _ instructions to only use it for emergency purposes.

 

“Hello?” Phil answered, the bubbles of anxiety beginning at the pit of his stomach. “Clint?”

 

Phil could scarcely hear a faint sniffling. Fuck.

 

“Clint? Honey, tell me what’s wrong,” Phil said quietly. “I can’t help unless you tell Daddy what’s wrong.”

 

“D-daddy…”

 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuck.

 

“Yes, sunshine?” Phil just barely resisted the urge to tear down the walls of the compound because  _ shit _ Clint sounded  _ pained _ . “Daddy’s here.”

 

A small sob. “Daddy, my tummy  _ hurts _ . It hurts real bad.”

 

Fuck.

 

“Okay sweetheart. Can you tell Daddy where it hurts the most?” Phil prayed to whatever deity existed that this was  _ not  _ what he thought it was. “Above or below your bellybutton?”

 

Usually, if little Clint so much as heard the word, he’d begin giggling madly. For whatever reason, Clint thought that  _ bellybutton _ was the funniest word ever.

 

This time, Phil only heard another choked sob and that worried him to no end.

 

“Below,” Clint sniffled.

 

Shit.

 

“Okay, honey,” Phil tried to keep the panic hidden. It would  _ not  _ due to make Clint anymore scared than he already was. “And can you tell Daddy if it hurts more on the left or right? Or is it just a tummy ache?”

 

A slight pause. Phil waited patiently for his boy to figure the question out. Sometimes, just like a ‘real’ four year old, Clint had difficulties differentiating between his lefts and rights.

 

Clint whined suddenly and Phil tried to soothingly whisper “you’re okay” and “just take deep breaths” as calmly as he could. Fuck. He needed to go home  _ right now _ .

 

The young boy panted slightly before he was quiet again, still not answering Phil’s quiet platitudes. Finally, Clint muttered, “Right.”

 

Hell.

 

“Okay, sweetpea, here’s what Daddy wants you to do,” Phil kept his voice firm but gentle. If this was appendicitis like Phil thought it was then they needed to act quickly. With Clint in this mindset, he had no way of telling how long his abdomen has been hurting- and knowing Clint, it could’ve been  _ hours _ .

 

“Daddy wants you to call Fur- Uncle Nick, okay?” Phil continued over Clint’s protests. “Tell Nick exactly what you told me. It’s very important you do this, honey, do you understand that?”

 

Phil waited for Clint to shakily confirm, hesitance still in his voice. It wasn’t like Phil was ecstatic either. Even though he and Nick had shared a bond stretching since the army, Phil has decidedly  _ not _ told the director of SHIELD that Clint occasionally called him ‘Daddy’ and not in the kinky way. He wouldn’t be remotely surprised if the omniscient director already knew but there was no way in  _ hell _ that Phil would confide this to him.

 

“Okay, honey, you’re so brave, you know that right?” Phil encouraged. “My brave, sweet baby. Call Uncle Nick, okay?” Phil flinched when his com starting buzzing with commotion. Shit- out of time. “Call him, Clint. I’ll be home as  _ soon _ as I can. I love you.”

 

Which is, of course, when the door decided to blow up and Phil had to concentrate outside of what was happening at home.

 

Fuck.

  
  


It was a Wednesday (because of course it was.) The day Nick wanted to curse the heavenly Father for ever inventing because fuck, couldn’t it be Friday or even  _ Thursday _ already? It wasn’t as though it even mattered, obviously, because being the director of a secret, world protecting agency such as SHIELD meant that he kept odd hours but dear God. Nick could still curse Wednesday for ever existing.

 

It was his God given right.

 

“Sir,” the tone of his second in command, Maria, did not bode well.

 

“Yes, Hill?”

 

“Barton would like to speak to you.”

 

Nick didn’t turn around from where he was (not broodingly) staring out of his impressive window. “Then send him in.”

 

“He’s on the line, sir.”

 

Of course he was.

 

“Tell him if he wants to talk so bad, then he could show up in person.”

 

“That’s…” Hill hesitated which made Nick pause. Hill never hesitated, it’s part of what made him choose her. “That’s the thing, sir. I don’t think he can.”

 

Nick mulled that over for a second before giving up, “And why is that, Hill?”

 

“It’s, well, sir,” Hill still sounded unsure. “It’s probably best if you talked to him yourself.”

 

Well, fuck, Phil would honest to God completely eviscerate Nick if he let  _ anything _ happen to his boy. If there was one thing Nick learned over the years, it was  _ not _ mess with Phil.

 

“Okay, I’ll talk to him.”

 

“Very good, sir.”

 

As soon as Hill walked out, soft sobs came through the speaker, which, what. Whatever Nick was thinking, he was decidedly  _ not _ expecting this.

 

“Barton?” Nick asked when he said agent didn’t say anything else. The sobs stopped for a second before starting in earnest. “Barton- I meant,” Nick cursed softly. “Clint. Clint, talk to me.”

 

“W-want D-d-daddy. “ The ‘daddy’ was drawn out in a voice that was definitely Barton’s but in a higher pitched whine. “Daddy.”

 

Nick thought quickly. Well, obviously ‘daddy’ was Coulson, which meant either this was a weird kink thing or something weirder than that. Which, given the circumstances, was probably the weirder thing.

 

“Okay, Barton. Your-” Nick struggled not to twitch his remaining functional eye. “Your  _ daddy _ isn’t here.”

 

The kid,  _ Barton _ , seemed to sob harder before hiccupping out, “Hurts.”

 

Bloody hell. This was  _ not _ looking good.

 

“Okay, son, what exactly hurts?” Fuck, Barton sounded like an actual  _ child _ . Young and innocent and  _ hurting _ .

 

“T-t-tummy hurts,” Barton cut himself off as he whined again.

 

Nick cursed, then cursed again because kids shouldn’t be exposed to swearing. Wait. Where the fuck had that thought come from?

 

“Okay,” Nick considered his options before realizing there weren’t  _ many _ . “I’ll be right there, son. Think you can stay on the line for me?”

 

It was quiet. Fuck. “Clint?”

 

A soft sniffle. “Yeah.”

 

“Okay, good boy.”

 

Time to  _ get the fuck out _ .

 

It really must’ve been Wednesday.


	3. Daddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short one. maybe the next will be longer? *shrugs*
> 
> comment/kudos makes my heart leap out of my chest and sing serenades to the world :'D

Time seemed to slow down as the pain intensified deep in his tummy. It  _ hurt _ and Daddy wasn’t  _ here _ and he couldn’t breathe and all he could think was  _ Daddy  _ and  _ blankie  _ and he didn’t  _ want _ Fury, he wanted  _ Daddy _ . Why didn’t Daddy seem to understand that?

 

““Okay, honey, you’re so brave, you know that right?” Phil’s soothing, perfect voice said in his ear and Clint couldn’t help but relax and preen slightly under the compliment. “My brave, sweet baby. Call Uncle Nick, okay?” Phil’s perfect voice was cut off as he continued. “Ca-ll -im, Clint. I’ll -- home as... I- l-ve you.”

 

Then there was nothing. Clint curled into a ball smaller than the one he was already in.  _ Daddy _ . His chest hurt along with his tummy and he couldn’t help the helpless feeling well up from within.  _ Daddy. Daddy. _

 

Clint sobbed again, louder, hoping and praying Daddy could still hear his desperate cries. “Daddy, come home,” he whispered.

 

Another stabbing pain and he cried out again with renewed sobs. It hurt  _ so much _ and it’s  _ been _ hurting for a while.

 

_ Call Uncle Nick _ .

 

Clint couldn’t help as he recoiled against the words within his head. ‘Uncle Nick.’  _ No one knew how fucked up Clint was _ . No one knew that he and Phil age played and have for  _ three years _ \- longer than the two have been together.

 

_ Call Uncle Nick. My brave, sweet baby _ .

 

For Daddy. Because Clint was a brave boy.

 

With shaking fingers, Clint grabbed the phone still settled under his ear and pulled out his contact list. He went through the short list before pressing on the ‘Pirate’ and hitting the call button. Clint waited.

 

“Hill.”

 

Uh-oh. Maria must’ve had Fury’s phone.  _ This wasn’t part of the plan _ .

 

Clint couldn’t hold in the frustrated whine, which quickly turned into a pained whine because  _ his tummy still hurt _ .

 

“...Barton?”

 

“Wa-want Daddy,” he hadn’t meant to say that. Not to  _ Hill _ . “Please. Get Daddy.”

 

The line was silent and Clint was sure that Maria hung up, which, no surprise because he was disgusting and why did Daddy think this was a good idea? Clint sobbed again. He was  _ alone _ .

 

“One moment, please.”

 

Clint sobbed to himself, not bothering to even try to be quiet. He cried as the pain continued to sharpen then pull back again and again and again and again. It was tapering off when a voice in his ear said, “Barton? Barton- I meant, fuck, Clint. Clint, talk to me.”

 

“W-want D-d-daddy. “ Clint  whined, still feeling frustrated. “Daddy.”

 

“Okay, Barton. Your- Your  _ daddy _ isn’t here.”

 

Clint sobbed. He  _ knew  _ that. “Hurts.” Why didn’t anyone besides Daddy seem to understand that?

 

“Okay, son, what exactly hurts?”

 

“T-t-tummy hurts,” Clint tried to continue, to say exactly what he said to Daddy but couldn’t as another wave of pain hit him.

 

“Okay. I’ll be right there, son. Think you can stay on the line for me?”

 

It  _ hurt _ . Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. “Clint?”

 

He gasped out, “Yeah.” Hurt. Hurt.

 

Where was Daddy?


	4. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one would think that after getting my own appendix removed at 7, having a nurse for a mom, taking a college credit course in high school, and working in a hospital would mean I’d know a little more about the medical setting but alas. I don’t.
> 
> enjoy the medical inaccuracies!

It wasn’t until after that Phil found out what happened. After bodies were strewn across the warehouse floor. After a bullet grazed him and blood oozed out steadily from his arm. After insisting that _he was fine_ and that he _needed to go_ . After boarding the jet while reluctantly allowing the medic patch his _perfectly functional arm_ with tightly packed gauze and instructions to get it seen to, to which Phil responded with _obviously, but_ later. After arriving on the landing pad outside of a SHIELD medical facility, still unable to call Clint or Nick or even Hill because his damned Starkphone broke.

 

It was on the helicarrier that Hill stood waiting for him and shit, shit, _shit_ she better fucking say that his goddamned _fiance_ was breathing because Phil honestly didn’t know what he’d do if Clint _wasn’t_ breathing and-

 

“Phil!” Hill finally snapped, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the gawking baby agents. Not that Phil cared. “Phil, he’s okay. He’s alive.”

 

 _Alive_.

 

“I need to see him,” he managed to choke out.

 

“Of course,” Hill soothed. “After-”

  
“ _No_ .” Phil pulled away from his friend. He compartmentalized the fractured thoughts of panic for Clint because Hill was _trying to get him away._ “No,” Phil said again with more force and as much authority as he can muster. “No.”

 

Hill’s lips pursed and two sets of blue eyes stared into each other. Challenging. Like two wolves fighting for dominance.

 

Finally, Hill glanced away and lead him away to another direction.

  


When Phil entered the intensive unit, Fury was there waiting for them, not even looking surprised. He cast an amused look at the disgruntled Hill before beckoning Phil inside. Fury led him inside a break room where there was food and coffee waiting.

 

Phil didn’t even glance at the table where his beloved drink lay. He could only focus on _Clint_ and fuck why isn’t anyone saying anything.

 

“You owe me one, Cheese.”

 

Phil didn’t answer, instead choosing to glare at the one eyed director.

 

Fury sighed, “What. I don’t even get a ‘thank you’?” He didn’t bother waiting for Phil to say anything as he continued. “He pulled through and perfectly intact except for a missing organ- which, was pretty useless to begin with.”

 

Phil let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. _Jesus on a fucking tricycle_. His knees appeared be done supporting his weight as he collapsed back into the waiting chair.

 

“Never heard that one before.” What? Oh- he must’ve said that out loud.

 

“You did, actually, but hey- what does it matter. Your boy is alright and God, Phil I’ve never seen anyone like that.”

 

Phil could feel himself start to bristle. How dare Nicholas J Fury…

 

“Now, now. Before you start, I want to make myself clear.” There was a reason why Fury was director of SHIELD and it wasn’t because he fit the eyepatch criteria (although who knew with the WSC.) “What you do in your personal life makes no difference to me. You know that and I know that. I don’t give a fuck if this is some kinky shit, trust me, I’m not judging.” Fury held up his hands placatingly. “ _However_ , it’s an entirely different matter when an adult is in a child-mindset and sobbing his heart out in _obvious_ pain who’s desperate and crying for help. The same child who’s also about to _fucking die_ because his organ decided to stop functioning.” Fury raised one eyebrow at Phil, “So, excuse me for thinking that this is by any means ‘not normal.’”

 

Phil thought about that for no more than a second before conceding that _yeah, okay_ this was a little unusual and God knew that Phil wanted to cry thinking about the condition Clint was in. Fury was still staring, expecting a response, so Phil smiled crookedly and just like that they were okay.

 

 

Before Clint was by any means okay and before he was laid on the gurney, it was nothing but _excruciating pain_ and the thought of ‘if Daddy were here.’ It was when Clint was crying on the bed, the sheets around him wet with urine, and Nick Fury’s voice in his ear that Clint realized that he could _actually be dying_.

 

_He could die and never get to see Phil again. He could die, still Phil’s fiance, but never his husband. He could die without ever seeing Tasha again or shooting a bow again or…_

 

Did Clint remember to put his aides in? He must’ve because he could’ve sworn he had just spoken to Daddy and-

 

“ _Daddy_ ,” Clint sobbed. He _had_ to see his Daddy before he died. He had to. “Daddy!”

 

Pain throbbed from his tummy and it only seemed to grow and spread. Pain. Pain. Pain.

 

Why couldn’t he breathe? Darkness was edging his vision- why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well i mean. i know it's short but i'm stubborn and decided i wanted to post everyday till i can't soooo
> 
> comment/kudos feeds my nonexistent soul<3
> 
> also! rant at me on tumblr, same name as here! i'm booored

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I mean... I know it's short but it felt like a natural ending.... soooo, gear up for chapter 2~
> 
> (which is already *cough* finished *cough-cough* and will be coming out soon *cough*) Sorry getting over a cold
> 
> comment/kudos? if you're nice I might decide to post it sooner;)


End file.
